What's Known Can Hurt
by quietandsneaky
Summary: Sequel to What Could Have Been and What Could Be Again and Ignorance Really is Bliss. John confronts Sammy at the crossroads. Rated T for mentions of torture.


**Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural do not belong to me.**

 **A/N: This is the third part of the story I began with** _ **What Could Have Been and What Could Be Again**_ **and continued with** _ **Ignorance Really is Bliss.**_ **I thought about making this part a second chapter to** _ **Ignorance Really is Bliss**_ **, but I think it works better as a one shot. It picks up immediately from the conclusion of** _ **Ignorance Really is Bliss.**_

"Sammy?"

The figure in front of John couldn't have been Sam. It wasn't possible. He'd held Sammy's body when Mary had found him dead in his bed. He'd stood by him as the paramedics had examined Sam, and screamed at them when they'd pronounced him dead on arrival. He'd been the one, as much as it broke his heart and soul, to convince Mary and Dean that Sam was dead. He had been the one to light Sam's funeral pyre, to hold Mary's shaking and sobbing frame as the fire consumed Sam's body. Had he known that Sam's soul was also burning, John didn't know if he would have been able to live with himself for the last few months.

But the… _thing_ in front of him _looked_ exactly like Sammy, even if it wasn't. He had the same eyes, the same shoulder length hair, the same hazel eyes. The smile was different though. It wasn't the same warm, caring smile that John had come to know and love when Sam was alive. This smile was cold, malevolent, and plain evil. John took a defensive posture, and the Sammy in front of him started to laugh. It seemed unbelievable to John, but the laugh was even worse than the smile.

"You really believe I'm Sammy? You've lost your touch, old man."

"What are you?" John aske, fighting to maintain some sense of composure.

"I am…"

The faux Sammy began to move, to walk around John in a circle. He stopped at the edge of the devil's trap John had drawn, turned, looked at John for a moment, then took a step outside the trap with ease. John shuddered for a moment, but never took his eyes off the creature in front of him.

"What. the hell. are you?" John asked, as evenly as he could while his heart raced in his chest.

"Don't you recognize me?" the faux Sammy said. "I'm your son, _Dad._ "

"You're not my son. My son is dead."

"Is he?" the faux Sammy asked. "See, _technically,_ you're right. Physically, he is dead."

"Where is my son?" John asked.

"I thought you said he was dead."

"Don't screw with me." John said. "Is he okay?"

"No." the faux Sammy said, and finally the smile went away. He stared at John with an intensity that definitely belonged to Sammy, but lacked any of the care and love with which Sammy used to possess. "No, he isn't."

John could have sworn he felt the lump in his throat swell. His air supply cut off, and the thought of taking another breath was too much. Suddenly he didn't care about keeping his composure in front of whatever this thing was. Faux Sammy immediately picked up on that.

"How stupid are you? Did you really believe that Sammy knew absolutely nothing about your beloved Mary coming back?"

"I suspected." John said. "But he said he didn't know, so I chose to believe him."

"Guess where that got you." faux Sammy laughed. "One dead son and one miserable family."

"Please. Let Sammy go." John begged. "I'll take his place. I'll take it right now. Just please let my boy go."

"That's a very tempting offer." the faux Sammy said. "But no."

"No? Why?" John asked, a small part of him offended that whatever this was would prefer to keep torturing Sam instead of taking him. "Do you know who would want to get a hold of me?"

"I'm very well aware of who and what you are." the faux Sammy said. "What I don't think you realize is who I am."

John swallowed. He knew this couldn't be a demon; it had walked right out of the devil's trap like it was nothing. What could possibly be more powerful than a demon? John had one thought, but that couldn't be real.

"You're starting to put it together, aren't you?"

"You're…Satan."

"Ooo, if you only knew how passionately I hate that name." the faux Sammy said. "Try again. It's Lucifer."

"That's impossible. Lucifer's not real."

Lucifer laughed again, in the same unsettling way he had before. "I feel pretty real."

"Why…" John swallowed hard. "Why take Sammy's body?"

"See, that's the best part of this entire story." Lucifer claimed, still walking around John in an unsettling pattern. "Because I've had your son all to myself for years now…."

"Sam's only been dead for six months."

"Not to Sammy. You see, time passes differently in hell, Johnny. To Sam, it's been sixty _years_."

"Oh, Sammy…" John said, despairing. "Why did you do this, buddy?"

"Because…"

Lucifer suddenly stopped talking and went rigid.

"What's going on with you?" John asked.

"No, it's not possible…"

Lucifer closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he was breathing heavily, and looking at John with an expression that John did recognize. Fear. Sammy's fear.

"Dad?"

"Sam?" John rushed to pick up Sam, but Sam shouted.

"NO! Dad, stay there."

"Sam, I can't…" John said, desperate to at least hug Sam.

"No, Dad, stay there. I can't hold him back for long, and I'm afraid if you're near me and he takes over again, he'll kill you. Please, Dad, just stay there."

"Alright, alright. I'll stay over here." John said. "Sammy, why?"

"Dad, just listen. I did it for you. I'm sorry, I know it hurt you and mom and Dean when I died. But I did it for you."

"Sam, if I had known it meant losing you, I never would have been okay with it." John said.

"I know. That's why I didn't tell you."

"Sam, please, there's got to be a way to bring you back…" John pleaded.

"Dad, just listen." Sam suddenly groaned in pain and bent over, screaming.

"Sam?" John asked, ignoring Sam's request to stay away. He grabbed Sam's arm and asked, "Tell me what's wrong. How can I help?"

"It's…." Sam groaned again. "It's him. He's trying to take control back."

"Lucifer?"

"No. That's what I'm trying to tell you. It's not Lucifer. His name's…His name's Azazel. He's just a crony of Lucifer's. He's lying to you." Sam said.

"Sam, I can't just leave you." John said. "You'll be tortured."

"It won't be any different than the last sixty years." Sam answered, and though Sam's answer twisted John's heart in ways he didn't think were possible, there was no trace of bitterness at all in Sam's voice. Just a heartbreaking sense of resignation. "Dad, I didn't write that letter. Azazel did. You have to leave. Now. If you don't, Azazel's going to kill you and maybe mom and Dean too." 

"Sam, I won't leave you."

"You have to!" Sam shouted. He was losing the fight with Azazel. "Dad, now..."

Suddenly Sam reached out and punched John square in the nose, sending John spiraling backwards to the ground.

"Sam?" John asked.

"Sammy's gone bye-bye. And that's quite enough."

"Azazel." John said with gritted teeth.

"That's right. And you are getting on my last nerve." Azazel said, kicking John hard in the side. He stopped when John started to laugh. "What the hell is so funny?"

"Sam took you over from the inside." John said. "What does that say about how strong you are? That a kid can take you over?"

Azazel promptly stomped John's nose, breaking it. "You think you're gonna just piss me off and I'm just gonna let Sam go? Fight back."

"No."

"What?" Azazel asked.

"No. I won't fight you. I know Sam's in there now. I won't hurt him."

Azazel laughed all over again. "You think fighting me will hurt him? You're right." He kicked John again, and John just pushed himself right back up.

"Sammy, it's okay. I won't leave you."

"Sammy isn't home right now." Azazel said coldly, reaching down to pull John to his feet.

"Sam, it's Dad. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, son. Thank you for the gift you gave us. I'm just sorry that I drove you to it."

As Azazel continued to mercilessly beat John, a horrified Sam watched, unable to do anything. He heard his father's apology, knew it was sincere, but could say nothing about it. He longed to acknowledge it, tell John it was okay, and to urge him to go back to Mary and Dean and live his life. Don't let his sacrifice mean nothing. When Azazel knocked John down for the fourth time, and John didn't move, Sam wailed.

"Dad! Wake up, please! Don't let him kill you."

Sam had never felt so helpless, in his life or death. Tears choked his words, but he kept attempting to reach his father, beg him to leave and go back home. He finally gave up trying to reach his father, and tried Azazel directly.

"Please, please, please let him go. It's me you want. Just let him go."

"You're wrong there, Sammy. I want both of you. But I won't kill him." Azazel said.

"What? You won't?" Sam asked.

"No. You see, Sammy, apparently you haven't learned your lesson. There are things much worse than death."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"You'll see." Azazel answered. John was moaning, his consciousness finally making a return. Azazel kicked him again and barked harshly, "Get up."

John pushed himself up to a sitting position. He quickly assessed his injuries. He was sure his nose was broken, as well as a least a couple of ribs. The pain was incredible, but nothing that he hadn't felt before. He was more worried about the pain that Sam was in. But before he could say anything to Sam again, Azazel spoke.

"You should hear your boy in here. He's been screaming for me to leave you alone and let you go."

"It's okay, Sammy." John said. "This isn't your fault."

"He also begged me not to kill you. I've decided to grant that request."

"Bullshit. You're not just gonna let me go." John said.

"You're right. I'm gonna knock you unconscious. Your wife, or son, or some stranger is gonna find your unconscious, beaten up body in this park."

"Why are you being so gracious?" John asked, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Because I'm also gonna give you another gift. You're gonna be able to know exactly what your son is going through."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that the second you're unconscious, I'm taking Sam back with me. You'll be able to hear him being tortured, which I'm cranking up now. You'll hear your precious little boy screaming every day for the rest of your life."

Inside Azazel's body, Sam was screaming already. "No! Don't do this to him, please! I'll stop fighting, just let him go."

 _Shut up, Sam._ Azazel thought, and Sam dissolved into tears. To John, he said simply, "I wonder how long it's gonna take you to lose your mind completely."

The answer was three days. John was found in the park a few hours later and driven to the hospital. Physically, he was told that he'd recover. The confrontation with Azazel seemed to be nothing more than a fuzzy dream. Mary and Dean took care of him, but both noticed that he withdrew into himself more and more. At first, the screaming seemed to be in the background. He pushed it aside as just the result of a bad dream.

But it was the crying that did him in. The brief few moments that John was able to sleep, he saw Sammy, sitting in a dark, damp, lonely cell. He knew his father could hear him, so he'd tried hard to not scream. His failure was what made him cry. Even in the depths of hell, Sam was trying to make the rest of his family happy. After one particularly grueling day, John finally heard it. It wasn't just the agonized cry of a teenager being tortured every day of his life. It was the pitiful cry of a lonely, scared, hurt little boy.

"Help me, Daddy."

It was that day that John woke up screaming himself. The screaming in his head was at a fever pitch, and he couldn't ignore it any longer. A lost Mary and Dean, not knowing what else to do, committed him to the local psychiatric hospital. He was there for exactly six months, when Dean, missing his father and brother, decided to take a poke around Sam's room. On Sam's desk, he found an envelope, written in Sam's handwriting. There was one word on it-Dean. Dean eagerly ripped open the letter.

 _Dear Dean,_

 _It sounds like a cliché, but if you're reading this, then I'm dead…._


End file.
